


Prodigal Daughter

by GVSpurlock



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Character Study, Gen, Genderbending, Genderswap, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 02:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1534277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GVSpurlock/pseuds/GVSpurlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prodigal daughter returned; shipwrecked and feral and lovely. Beauty honed on a knife's edge. Or an arrow's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Arrow Kink Meme Prompt: Olivia Queen spent 5 years on an island, now she's returned home with a mission.

Ollie's head was pounding. Her heart would have been, too, if she hadn't been keeping such a tight lid on her own personal Pandora's box. Fear, anger, regret, boredom, restlessness -- vestiges of her former life that could only damage her chances of survival -- were ruthlessly tamped down. But she was back in Starling City, now, and a little fear is a healthy thing.

"Miss Queen! Miss Queen!" the reporters sqealed, beside themselves with delight to be covering the Story of the Century. The prodigal daughter returned; shipwrecked and feral and lovely. Beauty honed on a knife's edge. Or an arrow's.

One of the more persistent of the pack grasped her arm when she refused to give them so much as a soundbite. Her bared, vicious teeth and his sprained wrist made a better photo op, anyway. An anonymous bodyguard imposed himself between her and the papparazzi and allowed her to escape the ferocious din.

Her mother was in the waiting car. Ollie's headache intensified.

"Now, doesn't that feel better?" Mother asked, arranging a freshly curled strand to lie neatly on her collarbone.

Ollie smiled weakly, sweeping her bangs to the side, "Joanna is a miracle worker. I think I had dreads and she hardly swore at all."

"I'm sorry you had to deal with those vultures. We must arrange for better protection for you; that...reporter never should have gotten so close." Moira's hand twitched, and, rather unlike the undemonstrative mother Ollie once knew, reached out and grasped her daughter's hand.

"I can't lose you again. Not ever." Her voice cracked. "You don't know what it was like...Theo, he imploded, Ollie. He self-destructed without you. You don't know how much you were _missed_."

Ollie's natural empathy attempted to crest and peak and crash over them both, giving them the emotional release they desperately needed. But Olivia Queen was her mother's daughter through and through. The smile and careful hug she bestowed offered comfort, but took none for herself. There was too much work to do to lose herself in her mother's arms.


	2. Chapter 2

There was a contingent on the Queen Consolidated Board of Directors that had been bewildered by Robert's decision to favor the elder over the male child. They were an old, white, and uniformly pudgy bunch of bastards, but after two drunk and disorderlies and a quartet of DUIs, Theo's temporary elevation to the lofty ranks of CEO was rescinded. Moira declined to become Queen Regent and Walter Steele was appointed as head of the company.

The board greeted Olivia Queen's dramatic return from the dead with cautious optimism. She'd been "a handful" at the tender age of 22, sowing a few wild oats with her closest friend (and notorious bad influence) Tommy Merlyn. But now, at the far more appropriate age of 27, she'd come home. Older, wiser, and... "Did you see her break that pap's wrist? That's the kind of killer instinct you need in a CEO!" chortled Steve Albright, CFO, adjusting his tie pin. Steele was unamused.

A crowd of employees formed a half-circle around the elevator doors, craning for a glimpse of the newly-returned heiress. The C-suite engaged in similar behavior, more or less subtly.

Olivia Queen strode out of the elevator, trailed at a respectable distance by a trio of indistinguishable goons. She favored no one as she strode to the boardroom, heels clicking decisively against the marble floor. The executives followed in her wake, discomfited by the lack of pleasantries but pleased not to be snubbed in favor of a competitor. Or worse yet, an ally.

An executive assistant bustled in with a coffee tray, ensuring everyone was adequately caffeinated after the usual jostling for seats had concluded. Olivia waved him off when he offered her a cup, murmuring a polite request for water instead. He brought it with an ingratiating smile, which at one point might have been sufficiently intriguing to distract her from the deadly dull business at hand, but no longer. Her thanks was perfunctory as Walter Steele cued up a Queen Consolidated-branded PowerPoint.

The board et al. provided a State of the Company address; everything from the recent improvements in factory productivity to the last five years' worth of earnings reports. Periodically, she would ask for clarification of a figure or the definition of an obscure acronym, but mostly she was silent.

Finally, the dog and pony show ended and everyone seemed to turn to Olivia for her verdict.

"Gentlemen, you have done wonders in my absence."

A gust of relief swept through the room.

"Queen Consolidated has prospered under your guidance and I, and my family, owe you all a deep debt of gratitude. You have ushered our company into the future and preserved our founding values. I honor you," she said formally, bowing her head, "And look forward to joining you in day-to-day operations, if you will consent be my teachers."

The board rose as one to applaud her, which she acknowledged with another short bow. There was a great deal of self-congratulation and hearty handshakes, which Olivia endured with as much good humor as she could muster. Walter Steele didn't know the elder Queen sibling as well as the self-destructive younger, but there was a certain tightness around her eyes that looked familiar. He ushered her out of the crowd, which clucked at her departure. She sighed gustily when the door swung shut behind them.

"Thank you, Mr. Steele," she said quietly.

"Walter, please," he insisted as she stepped away from the hand he'd placed at the small of her back.

She returned his smile, genuinely, he thought.

"Thank you, Walter. I'd best be on my way... coming back from the dead is damn inconvenient. The paperwork is just ungodly."

Ollie made her way to the parking garage and found Tommy Merlyn leaning against an ostentatiously yellow car that blocked in her Merc. The indistinguishable muscle shifted into high alert.

"I think it's time for a spin," he announced, slapping the hood of his ridiculously expensive car. "What think you, friend o' mine?"

"Oh,  _yes_ ," said Ollie, with feeling. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Tommy was a wonderfully competent driver and Ollie let herself fall back into the bucket seat and enjoy the ride. The slight pull in her lower stomach as he took a fast corner made her smile. They zipped out of town along their favorite scenic byway, destination unspoken but known. Thirty miles outside of town and down a poorly-maintained road to a stone picnic table, timeworn and smooth. Ringed by trees and beautiful at this time of year, all times of year, really. They discovered it shortly after Tommy got his permit and they got the hell out of dodge as frequently and flagrantly as possible.

It was Their Spot. Tranquil, inviolable, immovable. Their initials were carved into the table, a tiny scratch in the monolithic stone. There wasn’t a garbage can, so they had to be ever-so-careful with their Twinkie wrappers and cigarette butts. The desecration of Their Spot was not to be endured, so they tided. No other friends were ever brought along for the ride.

He said nothing as he drove. He didn’t fidget like he used to. The stereo system played something unfamiliar and electronic, but not loudly. She watched him, and the scenery behind him, and catalogued the differences. Few were physical. A few more fine lines around the eyes, evidence of his consistent good humor. The faintest threading of silver in his hair, which was styled rather differently than last they met. A perfectly tailored suit, previously reserved for special occasions, hung naturally on his lanky frame. The shirt and tie didn’t match the ostentation of the car. She suspected the car was purchased shortly after her disappearance; kept for entertainment value and appearances sake.

His jaw worked, holding back the emotion she knew was fomenting. Not a word would be said until they arrived, the silence as inviolable as Their Spot.

The car didn’t much appreciate the chewed-up road, but it rumbled to a halt. This trip would probably require several thousand dollars in repairs to the undercarriage. Neither of them particularly cared. It was a small price to pay for this reunion.

Tommy took her by the hand, like he used to when they were small, and brought it to his lips. Then he wrapped her in a hug, fierce and possessive, hands running up and down her back, in her hair, on her arms, cupping her cheeks. He was crying. Not like her mother, fat tears and careful sympathy, but bone-deep, heaving sobs that hurt, that would leave him swollen and raw. Not that she would ever let anyone see him like that. She would protect that side of him from the prickly world that demanded no such weakness from the scion of obscene wealth and power.

Ollie maneuvered them toward the lush, soft grass in the little meadow. It usually had too many bugs for her taste, but standing wasn’t conducive to confidences, nor comfort, nor cuddling, so into the buggy breach.

She held him close, feeling the shakes begin to subside, the gasping easing into a more relaxed pattern of breath. He never tried to talk while he cried, refusing to compound one indignity with another. Not that he cried often, but as his self-appointed protector, she guarded those memories carefully.


	4. Chapter 4

“I have to say, Miss Queen, you took me by surprise when you asked for this meeting,” rumbled the dean of admissions. “I seem to recall you being rather vocal about the uselessness of higher education. Something about the school of life, I believe?”

His condescending tone set Olivia’s teeth on edge, but she stifled the urge to get up and walk out. She wanted to do right by the massive company she suddenly found herself leading and she’d expected a much longer apprenticeship with her father. God, her father. She shoved the thought away, refusing to show a hint of weakness in front of the bombastic bastard in front of her. She smiled the debutante smile her mother had made her practice in the mirror for hours on end. It was a good smile. The dean couldn’t help but return to it and she sensed him softening. Time to make him melt.

“You’re so right, Doctor Grant. I was incredibly misguided when I made those statements to the press,” she said softly, biting her lip and pretending embarrassment. “The school of life has made it abundantly clear to me that I require further education to accept the responsibility adulthood has thrust upon me.” Olivia glanced up under her lashes and saw him looking at her sympathetically.

Hook. Line. Sinker. It wasn’t even a lie. 

“Ah, Miss Queen, I completely understand.” She knew he didn’t. “I appreciate the maturity you’ve shown today and I believe the College of Business would be delighted to accept you into their accelerated program. In two years, you will be on the road to becoming an MBA, and a proud alumna of the University of Starling.” Dollar signs dancing in his head, he stood to shake her hand. She accepted, offering a hint of the strength she’d earned in her years on the island. 

“Your letter will be in the mail,” he assured her, ushering her from his office with a hand at the small of her back. She stepped away from the touch and offered him the smile he’d enjoyed earlier, wishing it was a roundhouse kick to the jaw. 

“It’s been a pleasure, Doctor Grant. Thank you for your time,” Olivia said politely. 

“Of course, of course,” he burbled, returning to his corner office. 

She walked in step with her new bodyguard, wiping her hand on her skirt. 

“That was… masterful,” the man offered, chuckling. 

Olivia looked at him properly for the first time, elevating him immediately from anonymous goon to maybe-interesting with a single comment. She examined him carefully, from his carefully shaved head to his sturdy, shit-kicking boots. He had an open face with a mouth more given to smiling than frowning and he held himself in a manner that suggested military service. 

“I don’t think I’ve asked your name,” she said to him, wondering if she should try to inject an apologetic note to her tone, but decided he was probably clever enough to see through it. 

“It’s John,” he told her. “John Diggle.”

“John,” she said warmly. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, Miss Queen.”

“Olivia, please. I’m, well,” she huffed out a laugh. “I’m not much for ceremony these days. Idiots excepted.”

“Glad to hear I’m not an idiot,” John replied, favoring her with a pleasant, possibly real smile.

“I’m ready for lunch,” she said. “Do you like burgers?”

“Are you sure you don’t want a gluten-free wrap or something?”

Olivia arched a brow at him. “A what now?”

John snorted. “Never mind. Yeah, I like burgers. There’s a great place near here. Greasy spoon.”

“Do they have milkshakes?” she asked eagerly, showing the first sign of genuine emotion he’d seen from her.

“Yeah, they’ve got milkshakes.”

“Sold. Lead on, Fearless Leader.”

“You’re way too young to remember that show,” he protested.

“Rocky and Bullwinkle are the shit. You don’t have to grow up with them in prime time to know that.”

John thought he heard her add “you old fogey,” but he couldn’t be sure.


	5. Chapter 5

It was an awfully big table for four people, filling most of the room and gleaming in the warm light of the chandelier. The grain mesmerized Ollie as a child, swirling like sand or stardust, but tonight it was ignored in favor of her brother. He sat to her left, fiddling distractedly with his cutlery and gazing at his empty wineglass. He looked so much more _mature_ … twenty years old and confident with it. He wore a pair of glasses he didn’t need and had several days’ growth minimizing the delicate line of his jaw. Theo’s slacks were as impeccably tailored as Tommy’s and she suspected her best friend had taken her brother under his wing. As much as he would allow, anyway. There was a tightness around Theo’s eyes and his body language indicated he was ready to leave the room at the slightest provocation. 

Ollie’s mother sat opposite of them, with Walter Steele, of all people, to her right. She thought rather better of her mother for her choice of partner, even if the turnaround between her father’s disappearance and their relationship was short enough to border on offensive. She couldn’t begrudge her mother the comfort and he was a steady sort. Perhaps he could balance Moira’s neuroses and ambition better than their father.

A member of the kitchen staff brought out the first course — a lemony salad with avocado that she tossed at the table. Theo made eye contact with the man holding their wine for the evening and unsubtly indicated he was ready for a glass. The man with the wine glanced to Moira, who sighed and nodded. He began with the lady of the house, pouring a small portion for her to taste. She had always been something of an oenophile when Ollie was young. Some things didn’t change. Apparently the wine passed muster and their sommelier for the evening began with Moira and ended with Ollie, who covered her glass and offered a smile. 

“No, thank you,” she said. “Might I have my water refilled?”

“Since when do _you_ not drink?” Theo asked, taking a healthy gulp. Ollie couldn’t identify his tone and suspected it wasn’t his first glass of the night.

“Mmm,” she began, swirling the ice water in her glass. “I seem to have lost my taste for it. A vintage this nice would be lost on me.”

“You?” Theo scoffed. “You were the least picky alcoholic I ever met. That stuff you and Tommy made in the bathtub… ugh,” he shuddered.

 “Theo!” Moira said sharply. “That’s enough.” 

Ollie wasn’t sure where the combativeness had come from. They’d always been a little competitive, seeking out their absent parents’ attention and favor, but they had also been staunch allies against adult indifference.

Theo took another indifferent swig of his wine.

 “I hear you paid a visit to the University of Starling,” Walter offered, tossing out a conversational gambit. 

“You did?” Moira asked, surprised, eyebrows reaching toward her hairline. They couldn’t go too far — _Botox_ , Tommy had said, giggling. _Wait, what? People put that in their faces?_ Ollie had asked. _Oh yeah, totally._

“I’m going for a degree. In business. I got my informal acceptance today.”

“That’s wonderful!” her mother exclaimed. Walter smiled at her warmly.

“Seriously?” Theo said at the same time. “That’s bullshit, Ollie. You told everyone to go to hell when they tried to enroll you before.”

 Ollie looked at him. He met her gaze for a moment, eyes bloodshot and hard, before gazing back into his glass. “Things are different now,” she said softly, a little hurt. “I’m different now.”

“Clearly,” he said, disengaging from the conversation.

She rubbed at the scar on her right shoulder blade absently, feeling it pull a bit. Damn it. She was going to need to find someone to help her apply the stuff the doc had given her to help minimize some of the scarring. They were oldenough now that it couldn’t help a whole lot, but damn if it didn’t feel good going on. Soaking in. She shivered, remembering kind hands on her back. And what came after. Now was not the time, though, and she asked Walter about how things were going at Queen Consolidated.

Theo didn’t speak again during the dinner and ignored her hand on his shoulder as she tried to have a private word with him afterward. He left like the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. Once they would have escaped together, fleeing to the Merlyns’ house or going for milkshakes to recover from being picked at by their parents. Tonight, Ollie had to watch him leave, squealing tires and no glance backward.

She shut the door behind him and went up to sleep.

Ollie dreamed of them as children that night, climbing up the massive tree behind the house.


End file.
